Standing Alone
by Vampiric Hyde
Summary: Doggett's thoughts on th episode 'Alone'... you know, the one witht he lizard... ye-ah.


Standing Alone

Standing Alone

As he stood outside of the hospital room, peering through the glass window set in the door, John Doggett felt a strong desire to give up. He felt ready to leave everything behind, to simply fall to the floor. For a moment, standing alone, he felt ready to leave it all behind. All he wanted right then was to be away, far away, from his life.

There was a disconnection in his body, one he had felt very few times, the greater part of which had come during the course of his work, the unbelievable work of the X-files. Now it was strong, he felt it pulling him, calling him down to surrender. He was hard-pressed to resist, let alone ignore, its enticing pleas, but did manage to hold onto himself.

There were times when he felt as though he'd go insane, lose it all. It was a way to leave it all behind, a way to forget everything he'd seen and felt. At the moment, he felt that way. Everything he'd seen God, the last year had been filled with it. The unexplainable.

It came in various forms, at different times, in different places, but it was always there. A sort of evil, a sort of unreality There was the man who killed in dreams, the agent back from the 'dead', and, just over a day ago, the incident with the lizard-man.

None of it made any sense. There was no strong, hard evidence to prove it. Yet there it had been. He'd seen it himself, crawling through his nightmares, sitting in front of him, stealing through the darkness It had all been real.

Reality was something he'd begun to question lately. What was reality? Was it really so real? How far did the boundaries extend before restrictions began to take hold, to confine it to something understandable and solid?

Only a year ago he would've laughed at the very thoughts. He still did at night, lying awake in bed alone. Sometimes he wondered if he had gone insane. Other times, he simply wondered about what he'd seen. Still others he'd wonder if it really had happened, or if he had imagined the whole damn thing. After all, if the rest could happen, couldn't wild dreams like that?

It was a lot to think about too much, at many times. It put a tremendous amount of pressure on his mind, causing him unnecessary and unwanted stress. That people who seemed to think that everything had to be their way, had to have everything turn out perfectly, had further pushed the stress along. Kersch was a prime example of their type.

Then, there was no one. It was something that had bothered him for a long time, and seemed to itch constantly; reminding him that yes, it was there, waiting for something to open it once more.

Ever since his wife had died, he'd been lonely. She'd left him empty, with only his son. He'd missed her terribly, fallen into unreal depressions on more than one occasion, pulling himself out only by a will to continue. The period after her death had been a bleak one for him, one he hated recalling.

Still, even then he had had his son. There had been someone there waiting for him, looking up to him. Luke had been, in fact, one of the reasons he'd managed to pull through. He hadn't wanted to leave his son to himself, and had worked with him to make it. Together they had, in fact, made it. Without the other, Doggett was certain it would've been a failed effort.

Problem was, soon after that his son had been reported missing, and, later on, been found dead. With a painful grimace, he remembered seeing the lifeless body that had once been his son, lying defenselessly on the earth. That had been the worst, he figured, because it had been the end of his immediate family.

It hadn't been improved by what he'd seen, either. That blackness that had appeared before his eyes He'd tried to tell himself he hadn't seen it, but Monica had brought it up again

That's all the good she had done in his life. Opened up old wounds. For a while, she had said nothing, had realized that he wouldn't give up on his intransigent beliefs. Then she had come out with it, knowing full well that he didn't want to hear it

Doggett cleared his mind of it. That was simply a small hole in the road of life, nothing to dwell on. Compared to everything else, it had been insignificant. Compared to everything else, it was nothing.

Because after his son had died, the pangs of loneliness he had felt after his wife died had increased in intensity. He couldn't turn around without being faced by a painful thought, an excruciatingly sharp memory, or a ripping sort of emotion. It had been bad, terrible Yet he had endured it. Somehow, he had managed to pull through again.

Even than, it kept hitting him. Loneliness, he had found, never quite left. It simply took a break. You think, with relief, that it's gone, than boom, it's back for a nice bout of the good old days. He hated that loneliness, hated how it never ceased to ring within him.

Sometimes it found him at home, sitting in quiet isolation. He would be drifting, thinking of nothing, when suddenly it would be there, the memory of his wife, of his son. Or he would be at the office, in the middle of a meeting or in the field with other agents, and it would strike. That was worst, when he felt completely alone in a crowd.

For some time, he'd worked alone. It had suited how he felt, but had advanced the stages of his seclusion. Than he'd been put on the X-files, and things had changed.

Agent Scully had never been the best partner. On many of the cases he had worked with her, she'd taken everything into her own hands, and had become angry with him when he attempted to intervene.

Still, it had been a nice change. At first he hadn't quite liked it, hadn't trusted himself to be around people, but than he knew he needed it. The loneliness began to fade away as he became caught up in that increasingly strange line of work, and he had hoped it'd be gone for good.

It still came to visit, though. Whenever he mentioned Agent Mulder, Scully's eyes immediately clouded over with a feeling he knew all too well. Simply seeing it in her had often been too much, and he'd felt the silence come back to him many of those times.

Then Mulder had returned, and he'd seen relief in her, in both of them. They needed each other; he could see it by simply watching them. They were made for each other, and couldn't stand to be apart.

It hurt him to see them like that. Whenever he saw them laughing together, he felt hurt inside. It was being left out, being pushed away. They were in on a secret, and he was out. It always seemed that way.

The loneliness had been hurting more than ever for the last couple of weeks, biting at him solidly. Seeing anyone together had always hurt, seeing two people he knew together hurt worse.

The loneliness was almost like old times again. There it was, back for more. There it was, back from the dead. There it was, unwilling to give up.

Why didn't it just leave him alone? He'd wondered that many times, wondered how he could stop it. There seemed to be no possible way, but he continued to try. After all, trying didn't hurt usually.

The previous morning, Scully had left. He'd known she'd be gone for good; the way she looked at him had spoken for itself. Sure, he'd never cared for her much, but she had been his partner, his co-worker. And than she was gone, just like that.

He'd watched her leave with a feeling of deep division, of a growing darkness. It was returning to him. Than, for one moment, he thought she was back. He thought he wouldn't have to deal with the darkness and another woman, Harrison, had entered.

While she hadn't been the brightest, she's managed to keep the darkness from taking him down. Having someone there had helped, as always. Still, the way she spoke, the way she constantly referred to old X-files He felt left out again.

There it had been, the feeling of being left out. Wasn't it great? Wasn't it magnificent? It was a marvel, to be sure.

She had been nothing but annoying to him, a burden, but she'd been there. And now she too was gone. The depths of what she'd seen, of seeing the man who'd altered himself, who'd become something inhuman, had caused her to leave, to give it up. He hadn't been surprised when he'd heard the news that morning.

When he'd heard the news, he told Mulder and Scully to give her something. It was what Scully had given him previously, an Apollo 11 medallion symbolizing partnership, one she had received from Mulder. He'd told them she would like it, that she had shown the ability of a true partner, and that she deserved it for her troubles.

That was what they were doing now, handing it to her. Not to his surprise, there was a smile on her face as she realized what it was. Also, not to his surprise, she asked them something, and both began to answer together.

And there it came again. The darkness. Only this time, it was less concentrated, less engulfing. This time it was a simple cloud of grayness, and area of semi-solitude. Anticipating the complete shadows, he felt himself tense, than relaxed slightly as he realized they weren't coming.

Inside, the three were laughing, and it bothered him, but not as much as it would have before. He'd learned something about himself the previous day. He'd learned that he could handle himself alone. He hadn't needed Agent Harrison there, could've done as well by himself.

It didn't help to ease the pain in his heart much, but it helped to clear his mind. With an odd sort of half-delight he realized that he could think straight, that he could go on. Even better, that he could continue alone, that he could live with himself.

He turned away from the window slowly, than started down the hallway. His footsteps echoed off the walls as he headed away from the hospital room as they always had, that hadn't changed. Something else had, though.

Maybe they hadn't realized it, but him giving up the medallion had been symbolism, too. In his mind, he felt that it showed how he felt. He felt it conveyed that he was finished with partnerships, that, for the time being, he was finally ready to stand alone, to face the world as it was, and to face it as he knew how.

He almost hoped they understood.

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